


Black Blood

by The_Lady_Eternal



Series: Of Sin and Penance [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1950s, Andromeda Black as Main Character, Background Relationships, Family Issues, Gen, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Politics, Pureblood Idealogy, Subtle Supremacy, WIP, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 07:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lady_Eternal/pseuds/The_Lady_Eternal
Summary: The family Black are notorious for many reasons, but when it comes down to it, they are still a family. The subtle (and not so subtle) of the 20th century Blacks have shaped three very different women in the forms of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, but how did one end up so much unlike the others?Andromeda is born in 1953 as the second daughter to Cygnus Black the Third and Druella Black (née Rosier). She observes and learns what her family offers her, then she heads to Hogwarts where she has to confront herself with a harsh question:Is her family wrong?





	1. Little Andi

It was the year of nineteen-fifty-three. The elderly Sir Winston Churchill was in the midst of his second term as Prime Minister. Meanwhile Minister for Magic, Wilhelmina Tuft, was five years into her first term. 

February marred the English east coasts with terrible floods in which more than three-hundred people died. 

The widowed Queen consort Mary of Teck died on the twenty-fourth of March. A year after her son, George the Sixth, King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions of the British Commonwealth had passed away. 

The second of June saw a twenty-five year old Elizabeth the Second crowned as Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Pakistan, and Ceylon. Earlier that morning, word reached of the British expedition of Mount Everest; they succeeded in reaching the highest summit of the mountain. 

It was the dawning of a new era as the country clawed its way from the ruins of the Second World War, and a young Queen symbolised peace and a fresh start for many. The rationing of several more food products finally came to an end, like the rations on sweets, sausages, and eggs. The rations on tea had—thankfully—ended the year prior. 

But aside from the coronation, the success in sports lifted the spirits of the Muggles considerably. On the second of May, after the Stan Mortensen of Bolton Wanderers scored three times in the football cup final against Blackpool, taking the lead of three-to-one. However, Stanley Matthews inspired the rest of his team to make a tremendous comeback and they ended up winning the cup four-to-three. 

In June all racing fans were delighted when Sir Gordon Richards at last won the Derby. 

August continued the trend of sports when the English Cricket team reclaimed The Ashes since the Bodyline series of nineteen-thirty-two to thirty-three. 

In October, British troops were sent to British Colony Guiana as the Conservatives of Britain feared what might become of the land in the hands of the left-wing party. A day later, Edward Tonks was born to Gerald Walter Tonks and Mildred Norwood Tonks. 

However, our tale starts before the events on Guiana; on Thursday, the seventeenth of September. It marked the end of the pleasant and mild weather with a fierce downpour. The weather stayed unsettled for the rest of the month as Atlantic frontal systems crossed the United Kingdom. 

It was on this day that Andromeda Black was welcomed into the world by Cygnus Black the Third, Druella Rosier Black, and her sister, two year old Bellatrix Black. 

Unlike the muggle world, the magical world experienced a rare year of peace. The cheerful nature of the Minister for Magic, Wilhelmina Tuft, had started to rub off on them. A welcome respite after the bitter taste left by Grindelwald. The Alley was once again a lively place with more shops than anyone really knew what to do with, and people were glad to put the war behind them for good. No hint of damage remained visible and events hosted by the Ministry where the ever social Minister Tuft greeted Wizarding Society as a graceful host were the talk of the day. 

Britain had a premier when the Wizarding School’s Potions Championship was held in the Enchanted Garden, in which seventeen year old Samara Gamp became second, after one Kwasi Afolabi, representative of the Uagadou School of Magic. 

Indeed, the only tragic news that the magical world got that year was the death of the much respected and celebrated Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Justus Pilliwickle, who died aged ninety-one at his family estate. Still quite young for a wizard, but not unheard of. The late Pilliwickle had made a nomination years prior, though, and it was consummated unanimously by the Ministry. His successor, Marvyn Grimstone, was met with public approval. Years later, Andromeda wondered if the wizarding world had realized that Marvyn’s mother was a proud Black, and if that would have mattered to them at all. 

Where Bellatrix had been fierce from the moment she took her first breath , keeping Cygnus and Druella both awake through most of the night despite the aid of their house elf Tippy, Andromeda was timid and easily slept through the night from her first day onwards. For the time being, it was a relief for everyone present at the detached Victorian house in Chislehurst. 

Pollux and Irma doted on their two granddaughters. The rest of the respected Black family made several appearances over the months of September and October to properly meet Andromeda and endorse her with more gifts. 

A year passed and Andromeda started to explore in quiet curiosity. She hobbled after her big sister, who had far less difficulty with walking on two legs and was thus much faster than her. Bellatrix thought it great fun and often called out with an: “Andi, catch up.”

That June saw the Blacks travel to Wiltshire where Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, the French Celestine Voclain Malfoy, showed off their newborn son. To the two sisters’ befuddlement, the visit led to many discussions and arguments amongst the adults throughout the rest of the summer. 

Christmas had Andromeda perform her first bout of accidental magic.

"Andi," Bellatrix intoned that very Christmas morning, heedless of the disapproving look most of the adults gave her. Bellatrix didn't believe in the long names that their family insisted upon. She pouted. "Can I pick a different present?" she asked, looking up at her mother.

Druella shook her head. "No, dear. Now give that to your sister."

"But I want to open my own presents!"

"Bellatrix, listen to your mother," her father, Cygnus, said.

"If Andi wants her presents, she can get them herself," Bellatrix countered, petulant.

None of the adults had expected one-year-old Andromeda to summon the package from Bellatrix's hands. The older girl had yet to perform more than colourful sparks whenever she was overly upset and Andromeda had not shown any magical signs at all until then. Yet nobody could deny it when the box flew towards one giddy Andromeda, who eagerly tore off the paper and retrieved the magically animated unicorn plushie from within.

Bellatrix was not sulking that Christmas, and she definitely wasn't trying to summon her own toys while the adults fussed over a baffled Andromeda. She just chose to play quietly for a change.

Nineteen-fifty-four ended, as did the last of the food rations for muggle Britain, fourteen years after the war had been concluded. Andromeda got the hang of walking, though she still barely talked. The healers at St. Mungo's assured Cygnus and Irma that she was fine and to simply give her more time. Bellatrix, meanwhile, had managed to summon all sorts of objects at the end of February as well, granting her back the spotlight that she had gained a liking for. 

In May, Bellatrix and Andromeda gained a third sister; Narcissa Black. 

"Cissy," Bellatrix decided, and Andromeda nodded her agreement.

When the resulting stream of family coming to see Narcissa arrived, the sisters were in desperate need of a sanctuary. They found it in Pollux’s study. 

The two explored every inch of the large room. They tried climbing the many bookshelves, without success, and at some point Bellatrix fancied having something to read.

“They won’t budge!” she exclaimed, slightly out of breath. “He must have put sticking charms on them!” Andromeda tried to grab the nearest book, a dark brown tome, and found that her sister was right. 

Hours later, they were discovered under the desk by Pollux himself. “Now what should I do with the pair of you?” he asked, grinning. The girls squealed in delight.

“Read us a story!” Bellatrix demanded. Their grandfather chuckled and indulged them. 

They should have been more specific. 

“...See, Babbitty Rabbitty,” Pollux read, “was very adapt with a wand, indeed. The Muggles’ scheme to make the foolish Muggle King do magic was a grand success by the audience, until the Muggles asked their King to revive a dead dog. Of course the fool thought he could, and the Muggles laughed when nothing happened.”

“They really thought he could revive a dog?” Bellatrix asked, dubious. 

“Oh yes, they very much did,” Pollux agreed. 

The rest of the tale was just as odd to the sisters as the name of Babbitty, and had them leaving the study in a daze.

The Daily Prophet dedicated their front page to the Universal Brooms Ltd, who had managed to severely reduce costs for their latest racing broom model, titled the Shooting Star. 

“Must be a one-use broom,” Cygnus commented after reading the article. “Bellatrix’s toy broomstick might outlast this rubbish”

Grand-Aunt Cassiopeia sniffed. “Mind your manners, Nephew. My Uncle Arcturus spoke of it with his friends, the Ollerton brothers. They admitted that it would hold well throughout an entire Quidditch season, but then would need to be taken back to the shop for maintenance.”

“The Ollerton brothers handled a competitor’s broom?” Druella asked. 

“Of course they did,” Cassiopeia answered, fixing the younger woman with her fierce gaze. “The Shooting Star has been selling well, and they need to ascertain the threat to their company. They only founded it in nineteen-twenty-six, after all. The brothers are but mere infants in the broom making business.”

“Yes, I’m sure you remember their rivalry with the Comet Company fondly, Aunt Cassiopeia,” Cygnus said dismissively. 

Cassiopeia turned to her brother. “I despair of your son’s intellect,” she confided. 

“As do I, dear sister, as do I,” Pollux said solemnly. 

Druella smiled. “Please refrain from insulting my husband.”

“Of course, Druella, dear, my apologies,” Cassiopeia said easily. “Sometimes it is just too easy to tease my Nephew.”

Cygnus grumbled. “I thought you were here for the kids.”

“Yes, I am,” Cassiopeia agreed. “Dear Bellatrix has shown her magical capabilities plenty of times now, as I am sure we can all agree on. With her fifth birthday coming in March next year, I thought it would be nice for her to visit my friend the wandmaker in France so he can make a custom model for her.”

“Can he enchant it so it won’t trigger the trace outside of the property?” Cygnus asked. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t offer this if he couldn’t.” 

“It would be fitting, yes,” Irma agreed. “Garrick Ollivander is a great wand-maker, but he is also a stickler for rules when it comes to selling wands to children too young to attend Hogwarts.”

“And a fitted wand, no matter the wand-maker, would always perform better, especially for a child, than an old heirloom,” Pollux reminded everyone. 

Bellatrix perked up considerably. “I don’t have to use Great-Grandfather Albrecht’s wand anymore?” she asked, her voice high in delight. 

Irma smiled at her. “The wand still has to be made first, dear child.” 

“Cassiopeia, my family would be much obliged if you would take Bellatrix to your residence in France this winter holiday.” Druella grasped the older woman’s hands and squeezed them soft in thanks. 

“Then it is decided,” Cassiopeia agreed, pleased.

The Christmas holidays weren’t as fun with Bellatrix in France. Narcissa mostly slept or cried, though she crawled a lot as well. Still, her younger sister didn’t make for much company yet. The presents made up for it a large deal, though, and Bellatrix returned on the eve of Old Year’s Day, which caused baby Narcissa to scream for “Bell” until her oldest sister had come over to greet her.

In nineteen-fifty-six, Walburga officially moved out to live with Orion at Grimmauld Place, despite Pollux’s and Irma’s many protests. Andromeda wasn’t sad to see her go, even though she hardly interacted with her aunt to begin with. But Bellatrix was more affected and sobbed through their goodbye.

Her sister quickly perked up when she received her own wand on her birthday in March, though.

“Look, Andi,” she said, holding the pale wood out for Andromeda’s inspection. “It’s aspen wood with a unicorn horn and tail hair,” she explained, pride shining in her dark eyes. 

Andromeda ran her finger over the engraved runes and shivered. “It’s beautiful, Bella.”

Bellatrix smiled. “Wait until you see it do magic!”

Grand-Uncle Arcturus had managed to get a box for his entire family to witness the finale of the European Quidditch Cup. Even his daughter, Cedrella—who had dared to marry a Weasley—was invited and brought her husband and three children along. Andromeda didn’t much care for the three ginger haired boys, despite their closeness in age. She much preferred the twelve-year-old Deborah Crouch, and the eight-year-old Avior Potter for company. They were more sedate, like her. She loved her sister dearly, but one busy-body was enough.

Norway’s Karasjok’s Kites got utterly crushed by the Welsh Caerphilly Catapults. The extended Black family met up with three very cheerful Ollerton brothers. Andromeda overheard the oldest brother, Barnaby, tell her grandfather that they had pushed the release of the Cleansweep Six so early after the Cleansweep Five in pure retaliation for the Shooting Star. The Caerphillies had taken a chance on them and agreed to let the Cleansweep Company sponsor their brooms for the European Cup.

“Of course if we couldn’t make it, the Cleansweep Five would have done a fine job, too,” Barnaby admitted. “But winning the Cup on a broom not officially on the market yet? I don’t think we’d see those Shooting Stars flying out of the stores for much longer.”

Andromeda giggled, causing the two men to look down at her. 

“And what do you make of that, Granddaughter?” Pollux asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“I think that’s great! They’re pretty brooms, too.” 

Barnaby beamed. “Smart lass,” he said, ruffling her hair. 

A certain Norvel Twonk appeared to be haunting Andromeda’s Great-Grandmother Violetta all throughout nineteen-fifty-seven. 

“He died from a manticore while protecting a muggle child! The absolute fool!” she shrieked. “If he needed to save the muggle that badly, he could’ve just side-along disapparated! Oh, but he never was very bright, that one. Why, I remember going to Hogwarts with him. How that boy ever got sorted into Ravenclaw is beyond me. Bleeding heart like a Hufflepuff, that one…”

“Yes, Mother, so you have mentioned,” Pollux said, his voice soft. “Why don’t you give me the Daily Prophet, Mother? It will do nothing but upset you.”

“I hope she will go back to the Estate soon,” Irma said once Violetta had left the parlour.

Pollux shook his head. “She’s lonely there.”

“She could always go back to the Bulstrodes if that suits her better,” Cygnus pointed out, but quickly let it rest after his father’s fierce glare. 

Weeks later, Violetta was still present in Chislehurst to screech her disapproval at breakfast when the Daily Prophet reported on Norvel Twonk’s posthumously awarded Order of Merlin, First Class. 

“Has everybody lost their bloody minds?! He saved one child! And a muggle one at that! Then he even got himself killed in the process without properly dispatching of the manticore!”

“Mister Scamander writes that its sting causes instant death,” Bellatrix supplied. 

“Yes, dear,” Cygnus confirmed.

“And that its hide repels almost all known charms, though it didn’t list the exceptions.”

“Of course not,” Violetta sneered. “Mister Scamander thinks we should all study the monsters, that they’re harmless stuffed animals. He won’t teach you how to actually get rid of them.”

Bellatrix didn’t seem deterred. “Uncle Alphard turns into a lizard, right?” she asked, bouncing in her chair. “I wonder if I can turn into a manticore,” she tacked on musingly. 

“Turning into a magical creature is incredibly rare, dear,” Irma informed her. “But you might be able to if you study hard.”

Bellatrix hummed noncommittally, then turned to Andromeda. “What do you think? Would you want to turn into a manticore?” 

Andromeda tilted her head in thought. “No,” she eventually decided. 

“No?” Bellatrix prompted.

Andromeda shrugged. “Everyone would notice you and panic.” 

Bellatrix looked thoughtful. 

“There are uses for terror as well, Andromeda,” Pollux said, though he didn’t sound like he disagreed with her. 

Andromeda made a face, but nodded. “Yes, but I don’t want that.” 

“Very well. What would you want to turn into, then?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, deflating.

Pollux nodded. “How about a rabbit, then?”

Both Bellatrix and Andromeda looked scandalized. “She isn’t Babbitty Rabbitty!” Bellatrix said, vehement. The adults apparently thought that was great amusement, and the crowd in the parlour quickly dispersed afterwards.

Another reprieve was welcomed in March, when the Daily Prophet brought word of the Muggle Treaty of Rome. None of the adults could agree on whether or not that was a good development. Some mentioned the earlier Treaty of Paris, signed a little over a month after Bellatrix had been born in nineteen-fifty-one, and how it had affected their own markets in steel, even Goblin steel. Others argued that their replacement cast iron kettles and cauldrons were lacking in quality.

However, the situation didn’t stay diffused for long: not less than a month later, the Chocolate Frog Company told the Daily Prophet of their intentions to make Norvel Twonk part of their collectible cards. Everybody quickly escaped to the upper levels of the home when Violetta cursed the paper to burn, not wanting to make themselves easy targets.


	2. The Pyrenees

Nineteen-fifty-eight saw almost three-year-old Narcissa often trail behind her sisters. Her blonde hair refused to change, unlike how it had faded to darker colours for Bellatrix and Andromeda. But where it should make her stand out more, Narcissa managed to go by completely unnoticed if she so wished. A useful trick as Narcissa quickly tired of people comparing her to her mother, Druella. 

Bellatrix was often practising with her wand, though. While Andromeda met her own tutor, a kind wizard by the name of Jermaine Gamp, she only had to spend the mornings on study. 

When summer came, Cassiopeia took her to France. It was the first time Andromeda saw King’s Cross Station. 

“Right there is the platform for the Hogwarts Express,” Cassiopeia whispered in her ear, but she passed by it without a second glance. Instead, she led Andromeda to platforms eleven and twelve and straight through a particular brick wall. An iron-wrought sign greeted them on the other side, claiming it as platform twelve-and-a-fifth. The train was in an elegant forest green that Andromeda thought would blend well with the highlands.

Cassiopeia took her to the closest compartment, one which had specific rooms built into its frame. The room they would share for the journey was enlarged by magic and had a bathroom ensuite with a toilet, bidet, sink, and a simple shower. 

“I still don’t know why your father and grandfather refuse to become civilized and place a bidet at Chislehurst,” Cassiopeia confessed. 

The room itself was done in deep blues and golds. There was a tasteful, off-white two-seat sofa and a low, mahogany table to one wall and two spacious bunk beds against the other. The ceiling was of matching wood with golden lining and a small chandelier, while the walls were covered with wallpaper ornamented with bronze swirls. “You’ll be taking the top bunk, dear,” Cassiopeia informed her. 

“Yes, Grand-Aunt Cassie,” Andromeda said in wide-eyed acknowledgement. The bedding was of the same rich quality as her own bed was at home, and matched the room in colours.

They left their room in favour of the public luncheon further down the train. It was in the same, warm wood with golden details. The dining tables were separated by half-wall boards in cream padding, the chairs had a dark green flower pattern on them that Andromeda found divine as she traced the outline of each flower, her breath stolen when the illustrated leaves fluttered or curled at the touch. Candles floated over the white clothed tables, causing the golden cutlery to twinkle. Grand-Aunt and Grand-Niece took a window seat, properly set up for people watching, though Andromeda had a hard time deciding whether she wanted to look at the extravagant robes or out of the window, especially once it went underwater and they saw schools of fish swim by. 

“This is amazing,” Andromeda sighed softly. 

Cassiopeia chuckled. “Don’t get used to it, dear. The Hogwarts Express often forgets magic could improve the journey considerably and instead features dull, muggle dimensions.”

That didn’t bode well with Andromeda. “Why?” she asked.

“Goodness, child, I have no idea. Perhaps it is to ease the Muggleborns and their parents.”

“But if they’re going to Hogwarts, don’t they want it to be a magical train?”

Cassiopeia had to muffle her laughter in her handkerchief. “Andromeda, you have to understand: their parents are often afraid of magic. While admittedly, their children are often excited, they quickly come of the opinion that our world needs to drastically change to resemble their own.”

“But that is terrible!” 

Cassiopeia nodded sagely. 

A short creature appeared at their table with two gold platters. “Dinner,” he said gruffly, placing the platters in front of them. The hairy creature disappeared in a puff of grey smoke that rapidly dissipated. 

Andromeda turned to look at Cassiopeia, but she shook her head. No questions, then. They ate in silence and then retired back to their room. 

“Go on and get ready for bed,” Cassiopeia urged. Andromeda busied herself in the small bathroom, still thinking on the creature that had looked so much like Tippy, but couldn’t possibly be a house elf.

Once she was done, she found Cassiopeia seated on the sofa, book in hand. “Grand-Aunt Cassiopeia, what was that creature?”

Cassiopeia didn’t look up from her book when she answered. “A broonie.”

That didn’t help Andromeda at all. “What is a broonie?” 

Cassiopeia snapped her book closed, her sharp grey eyes fixed on Andromeda. “A creature that is easy to offend, so I suggest you do not speak of it.”

Andromeda nodded. 

“Good,” Cassiopeia praised. “Why don’t you head to bed, dear?” Andromeda thought that was an excellent idea. After all, if she was asleep, she couldn’t invoke Cassiopeia’s temper. And she definitely didn’t want to anger a creature she knew nothing about. Grandfather Pollux had told her plenty of stories where she had learned that, as much as knowledge is valued, sometimes it’s simply not worth the risk.

When Andromeda awoke, bright sunlight tried to fight through the thick fabric of their room. Cassiopeia was once again seated on the sofa, book in hand. But she still wore her negligee. 

“Good morning Grand-Aunt Cassiopeia,” Andromeda said, stretching while still in bed. 

“Good morning Andromeda. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, the bed is very soft.”

“That they are,” Cassiopeia agreed. “Now that you’re up, could you open the curtains?”

Andromeda slid out of bed and did as Cassiopeia requested. “Where are we?” she asked. 

“The Occitanie region, dear.” Andromeda turned back to the window to consider the view. Fields of grass rolled by. Sometimes there were horses, sheep, or cows in the fields. A few times it was clear that it was purely for growing vegetables, but other than that it was all strangely uniform. Not at all the patchwork quilt that she had seen when they were still in England. The buildings were both familiar and odd, as well. It was like listening to someone stress the wrong syllables. Understandable, but it felt wrong to hear it. 

She kind of liked it.

“We’re near Toulouse,” Cassiopeia supplied when Andromeda remained silent. 

Andromeda considered that. Cassiopeia and Bellatrix had mentioned it before. “The pink city?” she asked.

Cassiopeia smiled. “That’s right.”

The two prepared for the day and left for the luncheon to get breakfast. Andromeda tried to discreetly look at the broonie that served them, but decided not to speak to him. Maybe Tippy would know.

“Look at that river, Andromeda,” Cassiopeia said a few hours later. “That is the river La Têt. Once we disembark, I will apparate us into those bushes there.” She pointed at where a small island of sorts had formed between a split in the river. 

“Why?” Andromeda asked, curious. Cassiopeia gave her a secretive smile. 

Cassiopeia shrunk their luggage and the train came to a smooth stop. They disembarked on a platform that very much appreciated glass, but they didn’t leave through the gate like the other witches and wizards were doing. Cassiopeia tightened her hold on Andromeda’s hand and then disapparated. They appeared in the green foliage that Andromeda had seen when they drove past the river earlier, just like her Grand-Aunt had said. 

Cassiopeia dropped her hand and waved her wand, revealing a small sailing boat. They boarded it and followed the river Têt down, though Cassiopeia had to use magic more than once in order for them to pass. The salty air increased and then Andromeda saw the blue beauty of the Mediterraenan Sea. Right before they could go into the open water, Cassiopeia brought them to a halt and levitated the boat out of the river, but nothing was there aside from grass with a backdrop of trees and the river bank that changed into the sandy beach.

“Chez moi, vous êtes sauf,” Cassiopeia said, and Andromeda gasped. Sprouting out of the ground was a cottage: the walls were in a light blue plaster that would blend in with the soft twilight skies and the white window frames were adorned by aquamarine shutters. It was only one storey tall, although the roof and windows hinted at attic rooms as well. The front sported a white-washed wooden deck that offered a view of both the river and ocean and was spacious enough for a handful of lounge chairs and an outdoor dining table that would easily seat ten people. 

Bellatrix had never mentioned that it was so pretty.

“I suspect a tour is in order,” Cassiopeia quipped. Andromeda did not have the words to agree, so she just nodded. “Very well then, follow me.”

They walked around the L shaped cottage, revealing that the backyard had a simple pool to swim laps in, and there was a greenhouse made out of a pale, timber frame. While the greenhouse looked quite adequate for holding plants, there certainly wasn’t a lack of them in the rest of the garden, either. Flowerbeds, rose bushes, and several kinds of trees were organised in separate sections, dividing the garden and providing private areas to sit both in shadow and sunlight. 

“For my potion ingredients,” Cassiopeia explained, nodding towards the greenhouse. “Marius usually tends to the plants, though.” 

Andromeda’s face scrunched up at the name. “Marius?”

“My brother the squib, yes,” Cassiopeia said. “He dated some muggle scoundrel, but he died a few years ago. Their two children were never good visitors. They moved to Paris, you see. Marius and I both prefer to be close to both the sea and the Pyrenees.”

“I don't know Marius.”

“Of course; he is a squib.” Cassiopeia frowned at a rose bush that seemed to have grown severely out of shape. “But one hardly needs to work a wand to care for plants and we keep each other company.”

Andromeda thought that didn't explain it at all, but was promptly distracted when a grey, winged horse approached them. 

“A Granian,” she breathed softly. It fluttered its massive, feathered wings and moved its head impatiently when it reached the two witches but didn’t receive any pets. Andromeda obliged it, earning a content neigh from it. 

"This is Serenity. Her tail hairs make for excellent potion ingredients. Admittedly, the same can be said about the feathers, but I think they are better used as quills."

Cassiopeia eyed the two, then sighed. She grabbed her grand-niece underneath the armpits and hoisted her up, settling her on Serenity. Andromeda beamed at her, proud as a peacock. 

She led Serenity around the greenhouse, showing the private veranda at the back of the house that led to the two ground-floor bedrooms, both of which looked out into the vineyard. 

“Behind the vineyard, in the forest proper, we have a paddock and stables for Serenity and the horses,” Cassiopeia explained. 

Andromeda’s face brightened even further. “You have horses too?” Her grand-aunt looked at her as if she were daft, and didn’t answer. 

They finished the tour of the grounds, and Cassiopeia helped Andromeda off Serenity. The two made their way to the very white front door, gaining entrance to the lightest cottage Andromeda would likely ever witness. The pale boards that made up the deck and veranda made up the entire ground floor, aside from the guest half bathroom and the two ensuites in the bedrooms, which were all sensibly tiled instead. The indoor walls were similarly made of plaster, though all the public spaces were instead done in broken white. All the furniture was similarly of light woods (though darker than the floor) and pastel fabrics. 

The guest room that would be Andromeda’s for the duration of her stay was in the attic. There were two other bedrooms and a shared bathroom, as well. The walls were a more subdued green, and she had a large, south-west window that looked out over the garden and part of the river. It made the scents of green, sweet summer flowers, and zilt more balanced. Her bed sheets were in a darker, rich green with gold thread running through the outermost layer. Andromeda learned after her first night that such heavy bedding was very much wanted at night. Other than that, her room had a simple window seat built into the frame, and a sturdy dresser of polished oak wood, in which the resident house elf had already placed all her belongings. 

Andromeda didn’t meet Marius the first day, nor the second, and didn’t know how to ask about it. Her curiosity, however, was satisfied at the dining hour on the third day when the man in question put in an appearance. 

“Evening, Cass,” he said upon entering the dining room, nodding towards the seated woman. “Greetings, guest,” he added upon noticing Andromeda. 

Cassiopeia stood swiftly, Andromeda was quick to follow the motion. 

“Dear Brother, meet our Grand-Niece, Andromeda Black, Daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black, and Granddaughter to our Brother Pollux and his wife, Irma.” Andromeda gave a shallow curtsy when Marius inclined his head towards her. 

“Grand-Niece, meet your Grand-Uncle, Marius.” 

“How do you do?” Marius asked, smiling. However, that appeared to be all the formalities and pleasantries that Cassiopeia was willing to put up with as she promptly slapped him upside the head. 

“Where in Merlin’s name have you been?!”

Andromeda let out a startled giggle; it went ignored by the two siblings.

Marius was clutching the back of his head. Andromeda wasn’t sure if he was soothing the slapped area or trying to protect it from any further assault. “I was visiting Dorea in Greece!” he argued, indignant. Andromeda was surprised. She hadn’t seen or heard anything from Grand-Aunt Dorea, or her son, Avior, since the European Quidditch Cup finale. It was news to her that they were living in Greece, too. 

Avior had looked so excited about Hogwarts when cousin Deborah had told them about her first two years at the school. Andromeda wondered if he would still go to Hogwarts next year, or if he was going to school in Greece. Or perhaps he would go to Beauxbaton: Andromeda wasn’t sure whether or not Greece had a magical school for Avior to attend.

Andromeda had lost grip on the argument happening in front of her, but when she tried to give it her proper attention again, she discovered that Cassiopeia and Marius had set it forth in French. As that language still very much eluded her, she promptly gave up on it. 

She slipped out the French doors into the gardens, heading to the vineyard and the stables behind it. Serenity would make for more sensible companionship, to be sure. 

The next morning’s breakfast was a disaster once Le Cri de la Gargouille was delivered by a rather dignified barn owl. It even refused the piece of croissant Andromeda offered it. 

The owl had hardly left the perimeters when the clear, sunny morning was replaced by a terrifying bout of Cassiopeia’s magic. The woman screeched and aimed at the sky, which turned a dark and menacing green. Andromeda shrieked and dove under the table: hail the size of snitches fell down onto their breakfast. Marius almost immediately joined her for cover, but he had taken his plate with him and casually offered Andromeda another croissant. 

She gave him a disbelieving, wide eyed look. 

Marius chuckled. “Cass has been especially upset with the Muggles since the uprising in Algeria started in nineteen-forty-eight,” he elaborated. “You get used to it.”

She thought of Great-Grandmother Violetta and her anger at the Daily Prophet last year and decided that Marius made an excellent point. 

At some point, the two managed to safely get inside the cottage. That afternoon granted Andromeda the dubious pleasure of learning all about the French Muggles’ Fourth Republic, colonization, and the war that Algeria was waging to get back their independence. She hadn’t known Muggles were that complicated, but at the end of it all she had such a headache that she felt rather sympathetic to Cassiopeia’s need to vent. 

Marius—who was rather knowledgeable of the Muggle side of things—told her that the French Ministry of Magic felt quite similarly, especially since some wizards and witches, on both sides of the conflict, took it as a personal slight and kept intervening in the Muggles’ affairs. 

Andromeda found that hard to believe, but she couldn’t deny the possibility after having witnessed Cassiopeia’s outburst.

Marius told her that it was in part the remnants and sentiments held by the French from the defeat by Germany in eighteen-seventy, and then again during Grindelwald’s War. He said the Muggles had their own version of the war thanks to a man named Adolf Hitler. Andromeda was unsure what to do with that information.

After the excitement of the last two days, her sixth day in France passed by in a quietness that Andromeda found hard to adjust to.

On the seventh day, Cassiopeia announced that they would heed into the mountains to meet with the wandmaker. Andromeda was positively beside herself when she discovered that Serenity would fly them over. 

The Granian flew without any indication of being burdened by their combined weight. Her wide wing-span floated on the thinning air, keeping them steady high above the valley below. There was a small river below them, snaking around the bases of the Pyrenees mountains that raised alongside them like gigantic dragons: the pine trees even called forth the illustrations of the Welsh Green Dragons with their glimmering, emerald scales. Above, there were huge swaths of cotton clouds adorning the velvet of the morning sky. The sun had already risen quite high in their back, but it had yet to take its proper place as the fiery jewel of the heavens.

Serenity landed under the guise of a clashing waterfall, feeding the stream that they had flown above. A dark skinned man was seated on a large slate of rock jutting out of the mountain next to the waterfall. His cloak and robes were a mixture of greens that on closer inspection detailed out different sorts of leaves. It camouflaged well with the light, high grasses, and the darker needles of the pine trees, not to mention its resemblance to the occasional canophany that was granted by the oak trees around them. 

Cassiopeia helped Andromeda off Serenity’s back, granting the man to rise to his feet. He grinned as they approached, the smoothness of his skin only crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Madame Cassiopeia, quel plaisir de vous voir!” he said jovially, his voice deep and booming over the waterfall’s roar.

Cassiopeia smiled. “Monsieur Poirier, meet my Grand-Niece, Andromeda.” 

Monsieur Poirier kneeled in front of her, grasping both her hands in his. Being this close, Andromeda swore she saw his dark brown eyes glisten with golden specks. His hands felt rough and warm; it caused her skin to tingle. “It is a delight to meet you, Andromeda,” he said, his English slightly accented, but not unpleasant to Andromeda’s ears. 

Andromeda smiled wide, the excitement at last getting the better of her. This is why she came to France! To meet the wandmaker and receive her very own wand! 

He returned her smile. “My name is Lazare Asràne Poirier,” he intoned, his voice softer now, “and I firmly believe that my ancestor cursed my entire line with that family name,” he added, his eyes twinkling in mischief as he dropped her hands and stood. 

The little girl frowned. “Poirier,” she tried, earning herself an encouraging nod. “As in poire? Perry, pear?” she asked. 

Monsieur Poirier nodded again. “Ever since, my family has been paired with pear wands. It is difficult to get any other wood, no matter how powerful or willing the wood might be, to cooperate with us.”

“That doesn’t sound good for a wandmaker,” Andromeda pointed out. 

Monsieur Poirier laughed. “Quite right, quite right. Though it appears that I will be crafting you a wand. Will you trust me to do such a thing?”

Andromeda gave him an incredulous look. “I’ve seen my sister’s wand,” she said. “It is both beautiful and strong.”

The wandmaker grinned, appeased, and looked back at Cassiopeia. “Votre grand-nièce est magnifique.”

To Andromeda’s surprise, it was more than a simple visit to meet Monsieur Poirier. The wandmaker insisted on taking them for a hike through the Pyrenees, pointing out trees and trails of animals, mundane and magical both, as they went along. 

They climbed higher, where a mist came rolling down the mountains like a protective reprieve from the blistering sun above. It was still thin enough for Andromeda to spot a gleaming heap of black scales. 

“Those must be from the tail of a Tarasque,” Monsieur Poirier said, inspecting them with a trained eye. He hummed in thought. “They might make for a good wandcore for you, though I don’t know what wood to pair it with yet…” he trailed off, his eyes glazing over in concentration.

“Monsieur Poirier.” Andromeda waited until he met her eyes. “What is a Tarasque?” 

“Aah,” he drawled. “It is quite an interesting beast. The locals believe it to be a dragon, but it is more of a hybrid. Its head bears resemblance to that of a lion, not unlike the manticore and chimaera. Its’ body is hidden by a tortoise shell, often with fascinating patterns. Some wizarding families used to make jewellery out of it; it nearly drove the beast to extinction in the nineteenth century. It has six short, stompy legs that some compare to that of a bear, and as you already discovered, a scaly tail that has quite the poisonous stinger. I trust your Grand-Aunt Cassiopeia could tell you more of its poison than I, however.” 

Andromeda blinked. “What ever made the Muggles call it a dragon?” she asked. Neither Monsieur Poirier nor Cassiopeia had an answer for her.

They continued their hike in companionable silence. The mist was getting thicker, however, and Cassiopeia took it upon herself to cast a warming charm on Andromeda and herself. Andromeda wondered if Serenity would be able to find them back in the mist, or if Cassiopeia would just apparate them back to the cottage when it was time to head down.

When more than one stomach grumbled its displeasure, they stopped for an outdoorsy lunch. Cassiopeia was firmly against the idea of sitting on the moist ground and conjured them a table with three chairs, to Monsieur Poirier’s amusement. The two adults conversed in French, so Andromeda decided to give the scales another look once she was finished with her meal. 

Quickly bored of looking at the reflective pieces, she asked to be excused from the table. Cassiopeia indulged her, and Andromeda hurried off to look at some nearby, yellow flowers. They were pretty, but Andromeda didn’t dare pluck them. Both Marius and Cassiopeia had told her not to pluck any flowers, and while they weren’t at the cottage, Andromeda didn’t want to press her luck. The last time Grand-Aunt Cassiopeia had told her and Bellatrix not to touch a plant, Bellatrix had done it anyway. The flower had bitten her in the finger, and she had quickly fallen asleep. She couldn’t be woken until she was given the antidote by Cassiopeia. Father always said it graced them to learn from each other’s mistakes; it was the intelligent approach. 

Besides, Andromeda didn’t want to cut the outing short just because of a flower. She had been sad when the mist had settled around them, obscuring their view, but now she just didn’t want to turn back quite yet. 

A blue globe of light a little further ahead caught her attention. It was oddly enchanting and while her family’s paranoia would certainly berate her for her callousness, she didn’t think it was malicious as its presence drew her towards it and away from her Grand-Aunt. However, when it led her through the dense growing shrubbery, Andromeda did start to doubt her assertion. She couldn’t turn back now, though. She desperately wanted to know where the light was going!

She halted when her shoe got stuck in the mud; just in time to prevent her from stepping into the quiet lake that was there. The mist was especially thick now—she could no longer make out the light. 

Andromeda had no idea how long she stood there on the lake’s bank, but the mist knitted itself to give shape to a woman beside her. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and while the apparition did not speak, her intent was clear to the small child. 

Andromeda showed her the Tarasque scales she had found. 

The apparition smiled, her ghostly white hands picking it up from Andromeda’s grasp. Suddenly, two more women showed up in the mist, peering over the first woman’s shoulders to get a better look at the scales. 

“Andromeda!” 

That had sounded like Monsieur Poirier. Andromeda shook herself, but the three misty women were entirely engulfed in their examination. “Here!” she shouted over her shoulder. 

“Andromeda?” Cassiopeia called from somewhere in the shrubbery. 

“Here!” Andromeda repeated, louder this time. Cassiopeia and Monsieur Poirier broke through the greenery at the same time, wands in hand. 

“Bonjour, les Dames Blanches,” Monsieur Poirier said upon seeing the three misty figures. The wind picked up and whistled in a high pitch, almost resembling giggling. “The Pyrenees seem to agree with you, young Lady Black.” 

“Yes, perhaps a little too well,” Cassiopeia grumbled. Monsieur Poirier didn’t pay her any mind: his eyes were transfixed on the scales in the hands of the Dame Blanche. 

The giggling winds stilled again, as if in anticipation. The three white women lined up, the two outermost each placing a hand over the scales as they seemed to focus on it. A light breeze originated from it, and then it was gone, as were they. The scales floated for two seconds, then slowly descended. Andromeda held out her hands, and the heap of gleaming black landed softly on her palms. 

“Le feu et l’air,” Monsieur Poirier murmured. “A very powerful combination indeed. It would need a strong wood. Perhaps one that grows here...” He seemed to visibly shake himself out a daze. “May I have that for your wand, Andromeda?”

She bit her lip. It was difficult to hand it over now, but she liked the idea of having it in her wand. With shaking arms, she gave it to the wandmaker. 

When the seventeenth of September finally came and Cassiopeia handed her a thin, long box, Andromeda couldn’t help the tears streaming down her cheeks. Inside was a work of art more precious to her than the entirety of the Black heirlooms combined. 

The wood was of a soft amber colour that still smelled of fresh pine trees, which Cassiopeia confirmed to be the wood used for the wand. But as much as its handsome appearance was a feast upon her young eyes, it was nothing to the sensation that flooded in her when her fingers brushed over the smooth polish and grasped around the wood. It almost felt as if the core had missed her, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations:
> 
> "Chez moi, vous êtes sauf" — "At my place, you are safe" (said by Cassiopeia to reveal her house).
> 
> "Le Cri de la Gargouille" — "The cry of the Gargoyle" (the French newspaper, canon from Fantastic Beasts).
> 
> "Madame Cassiopeia, quel plaisir de vous voir!" — "Madam Cassiopeia, it is a pleasure to see you again!" (said by Monsieur Poirier as greeting).
> 
> "Votre grand-nièce est magnifique" — "Your Grand-Niece is magnificient" (said by Monsieur Poirier after Andromeda complimented Bella's wand).
> 
> “Bonjour, les Dames Blanches" — "Good day, Madams White*" (said by Monsieur Poirier after Cassiopeia and he find Andromeda).
> 
> "Le feu et l’air" — "fire and air" (said by Monsieur Poirier after the Dames Blanches were done with the Tarasque scales).
> 
> *Translating Notes:  
'La Dame Blanche' is the actual name of ladylike spirits in French folklore. They appear in other countries as well under different names with the same meaning: Germany and the Netherlands both have legends of 'Weiße Frauen' and 'Witte Wieven' respectively.


	3. Being Bald is Okay

The end of January clouded the isle in a dense fog that had Andromeda reminisce of her time in the Pyrenee. Her wand appeared to like the weather as well; poor Mr. Gamp had to take two doses of Cassiopeia’s special hair-growth potion and his hair still was nowhere near the length it had been before Andromeda casted the praecalvus charm.

None of the grown-ups were amused when they had rectified the situation to find all of Andromeda’s plushies had suffered a similar fate of early baldness.

“Mr. Gamp shouldn’t be alone!” Andromeda cried, her puffy cheeks tear-streaked.

Cygnus picked her up and Andromeda burrowed her wet face against his shoulder. “Oh, sweetie,” he hushed. “It isn’t your fault; you’re only learning.”

“S’not Mr. Gamp’s fault either,” she said.

“Of course not. It’s nobody’s fault,” her father agreed. “Mr. Gamp already has his hair back,” he added, hoping that would appease his daughter.

Andromeda hiccuped. “It’s not th-the same!”

After several days passed in which Cygnus and Druella both tried to reverse the jinx on Andromeda’s plushies, they finally gave in and sent an owl to Cassiopeia. However, the potioneer didn't have any better luck than them.

“We could always just replace it,” Druella suggested.

“No!” Andromeda said loudly. “I want to keep them!”

Cygnus sighed. “Mr. Gamp’s hair has grown back to its original length, sweetie. Don’t you want the same for your plushies?”

Andromeda shook her head vigorously.

Cygnus’s fingertips rubbed over his heavy eyelids and ended together in a pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Very well,” he said.

“Cyg, you can’t possibly—” Druella started, but he cut her off.

“We shall discuss it later.”

When the last week of February came around, Andromeda returned to her room and found it sparse. All but one of her plushies were gone: only the unicorn that she has had as long as she could remember remained, lonely on her bed.

“What are you crying about?” Bellatrix asked several minutes later.

“M-my plusies are gone!”

Bellatrix entered her room and looked with interest at the much emptier shelves. “What did you do?” she asked as she came to sit next to Andromeda on her bed. It looked large enough to swallow the both of them whole in its vacant state.

Andromeda sniffed and shook her head. She hadn’t done anything wrong since the hair loss jinx, and their father had said that wasn’t her fault! She leaned against her sister, who patted her back, still waiting for an answer.

Bellatrix sighed. “Look, it’s not so bad. You still have Atryn, and you could always have a few of my plushies if mum and dad don’t ease up on you.” She picked up the unicorn and wiggled it in front of Andromeda to emphasize her point, but her little sister had other plans. Andromeda hugged Atryn close to her chest, heedless of Bellatrix’s still attached arm, and loudly sobbed into it.

“What is going on in here, then?” Druella asked, her head poking into the room.

“Why did you take Andi’s plushies away?!” Bellatrix demanded to know. She managed to wiggle her arm free and patted her sister on the head.

“Silly girls, your father didn’t take your toys,” she snapped, startling the two sisters. “Your father took them to Diagon Alley for repair.”

“No,” Andromeda uttered weakly.

“Yes,” Druella said. “What do you take this family for? Of course we won’t leave you with a collection of broken toys. We aren’t in _poverty_.” Her nose crinkled up at the word.

Bellatrix clapped. “See? I told you it would be alright!” Andromeda looked up at her sister’s smiling face, new tears still leaking quietly from her eyes.

Andromeda didn’t believe her mother. Nobody in the house had managed to repair her plushies: her father must be replacing them all! She just wanted hers. They weren’t broken, only bald. Andromeda clutched Atryn close to her for the rest of the day. At least they hadn’t taken her, too.

Her father entered her room on Thursday, bag clutched in hand. Andromeda looked up from her drawing. Tippy, who had been tidying her room, vanished in a pop. Cygnus sat down in the overstuffed chair that graced Andromeda’s room and motioned for her to come over. She reluctantly obliged, her burning eyes fixated on the bag he held. They didn’t speak as Cygnus retrieved a—a bald abraxan plushie.

Andromeda’s breath rushed out of her, and her eyes were overflowing, but she was smiling. The abraxan plushie twitched the lumps that should have been its wings and Cygnus placed it on the carpet.

“Verum vultus,” Cygnus said to the abraxan plushie. Beautiful palomino fur came rippling over its body and periwinkle feathers blossomed open on its lumps, its visage restored to mirror the true article. “Revertere.” All the fur and feathers shrunk back into its body, leaving the plushie once again bald.

Andromeda flung herself at her father, hugging him. He returned the embrace and stroked her hair. “The toymaker in Diagon worked really hard to implement this solution,” he told her. “Not all of your plushies could be salvaged, but he managed to repair most of them.”

She didn’t care about the small loss. She was too happy to see most of her belongings returned after she had thought them lost forever. Andromeda hugged him tighter.

Mid-March, two weeks after Bellatrix’s birthday, the Daily Prophet once again bore news that disrupted the family’s breakfast.

The headline read: “Minister for Magic Wilhelmina Tuft dead”

Underneath the title, the paper mentioned that there would be elections at the end of June; three years before they should have been held again.

In the chaos that ensued, the sisters pulled the paper towards themselves to read the rest of the article, both them and the paper seemingly forgotten by the adults that were loudly talking over one another and preparing to leave the house for the day in lieu of the recent news.

_London, 19 March - It is with our deepest sorrows that we announce that Wilhelmina Tuft (b. 1897), Minister for Magic died in office at the age of sixty-one yesterday evening at 9:34 PM. Her Undersecretary, Miss Sayre, and her right-hand, the elderly Mister Wright, were with her when the incident occurred. Both witnesses confirmed they had adjourned to the Minister’s office after yesterday’s long meeting with the Wizengamot had concluded. They said they were discussing the meeting while enjoying a box of fudge that Minister Tuft had bought that same afternoon. The Minister was brought to uncontrollable laughter until her heart gave out, according to Saint Mungo’s healers this morning._

_“Anyone familiar with Minister Tuft knows her loud, cheerful laugh,” a distraught Miss Sayre commented, and indeed, the late Minister boasted a reputation for friendly humour; a witch of great wit and with a deep appreciation for the enjoyments of life. “We didn’t realise something was amiss. The box had said some of the fudge was embedded with potions, the cheering potion included,” Miss Sayre continued. “We thought the dosage was just a tad strong for Minister Tuft, but not harmful to her.”_

_Healers of Saint Mungo’s confirmed that Madam Tuft suffered from an intense allergic reaction after ingesting an alihotsy-flavoured fudge. Alihotsy is more commonly known as the hyena tree and its leaves are the main ingredient for many cheering potions._

_“I hadn’t the foggiest idea that Minister Tuft had any allergies,” Mister Wright told the Daily Prophet, “I would wager my vault that neither did she.”_

_This morning her son, Ignatius Tuft, made a statement to the Daily Prophet in which he claimed he had no knowledge of any allergies his late mother might have had. The full statement can be read on page 7._

_It was disclosed by the Ministry that a public funeral service for Madam Tuft will be held at 2 PM on Monday, the 23rd, in the East Wing of the Atrium in Whitehall, London. A closed service for family and friends will be held that morning._

_Madam Tuft will be interred at her family homestead in Devon._

_Mister Wright will continue Minister Tuft’s policies with the aid of Miss Sayre and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot until elections can be held at the end of June. No candidates have come forward at this moment, but Ignatius Tuft said he considered campaigning in honour of his mother’s legacy. Mister Wright has assured us that he will retire. Of course, several people are also looking in the direction of Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, but he has been persistent so far that he does not wish to become Minister for Magic._

Andromeda tried to catch Bellatrix’s gaze, wanting her to clarify what they had read, but Bellatrix’s eyes were distant. Narcissa crawled onto Bellatrix’s lap and poked the picture of the late Minister (who was waving at the crowd with a bouquet of flowers), oblivious of the change that had come over her oldest sister.

“Bella?” Andromeda asked softly. She blinked, her arms instinctively wrapping around Narcissa. She didn’t answer Andromeda, but stood straight-backed and stalked over to their father, gaining his attention after she pulled at his sleeve. Andromeda couldn’t hear what they said.

There were no candidates that stepped forward in the days leading up to Madam Tuft’s funeral. On Monday, the Blacks made their way over to the Ministry to pay their respects.

According to Pollux, the Ministry had expanded the East Wing to accommodate every witch and wizard, but they were still crowded into the room to the point that they could hardly walk forward.

“Seems like everyone wants to be seen paying respects,” Cygnus muttered under his breath, his lip slightly curled up in disdain by the lack of recognition for his family.

It took over an hour to make their way to the casket and offer their condolences to the Tuft family, but they managed it when the reporters for the Daily Prophet returned from their break, so Cygnus was pleased.

That evening’s Prophet had Ignatius Tuft officially announcing his candidacy for Minister for Magic. More followed throughout the week, but Cygnus predicted that Ignatius was the favourite candidate.

He was proven right when the man got forty-four percent of all the votes and was made the twenty-seventh Minister for Magic.

They celebrated Narcissa’s fourth birthday in the gardens, the temperature kind enough to mistake it for summer rather than spring. Bellatrix and Andromeda entertained Narcissa by creating colourful bubbles and they experimented with shapes until they managed to create what they termed a bubble-witch. The fairies that took residence amongst their shrubbery got curious and one accidentally made it burst, causing the sisters to chase them instead.

They returned when evening fell and a cold breeze picked up, enjoying their tea and more of the vanilla birthday cake.

The month of July was spent at the coast, to the great delight of the sisters. They played on the sandy beach of the lone island off the south coast, enjoying the cool sea breeze while the sun brought sweltering peaks upon them. There were a few other magical families enjoying the holiday retreat, and Andromeda was delighted when she ran into Mr. Gamp and his girlfriend.

Bellatrix had other plans, however. On their third day she bumped into a boy her age, Corban Yaxley, who happily introduced her to his other friends. Cygnus and Druella were delighted to converse with the Yaxleys, and Andromeda splashed in the waves with Narcissa, eyeing her older sister from time to time. She had tried to join them, but the older children said she was just going to hold them up. That left her with the company of Narcissa and Evan Rosier, who Andromeda thought dimmer than a starfish.

The second week of their retreat was spent mostly indoors. The ocean had brought them clouds full of thunder and rain. Andromeda helped Bellatrix to set up a fortress with hover charms and the three sisters hid underneath it with a bag of Honeydukes.

The storms were quickly beaten back by more sweltering summer weather, and as several of the families had left during the thunderstorms, Bellatrix joined Andromeda and Narcissa in the waves for the rest of the month.

They had been back in Chislehurst for just about a week when Pollux received post from a large barn owl that nobody recognised. His eyes lazily trailed over the formal looking letter while the rest waited for him to speak. At last, Pollux put the parchment down with a weary sigh. “Cousin Regulus lost the battle against Dragon Pox and died yesterday evening.”

“Oh dear,” Irma said, grasping his hand over the table. “He wasn’t much older than you, was he?”

Pollux squeezed back, nodding. “Six years,” he said.

Pollux and Irma both left after breakfast, their faces grim.

The days rushed by with the adults coming and going. Two days before the funeral, Cassiopeia showed up, accompanied by Marius.

“What is he doing here?” Pollux barked, his dark eyes burned with an intensity that frightened Andromeda. She had never seen her grandfather livid.

“Come now, brother,” Cassiopeia drawled, unimpressed with the less than welcome greeting. “He was Marius’s cousin, too.”

“Codswallop!” Pollux sprang to his feet, Irma was quick to follow him, her hands flat against his chest, but she looked just as angry as her husband. “What are you getting at, Cass? Want old Hesper to follow her son into the grave, is that it? Have you given any thought of our own mother, Cass? What would she think!”

Cassiopeia’s nostrils flared. “Oh, pish posh. Mother is a spry witch, she will survive.”

The rest of Thursday and all of Friday was dedicated to the three siblings arguing with each other.

Narcissa pulled on Andromeda’s and Bellatrix’s robes. “We won’t fight like that, right?” she asked, her blue eyes fearful. She looked pale even under her summer tan.

“Of course not. None of us are squibs,” Bellatrix pointed out. “We will be fine.”

The adults left for Castle Black on Saturday, leaving the three sisters in the care of Bellatrix’s tutor, Ms. Avery, and the house-elf, Tippy.

Andromeda’s sixth birthday was a quiet event. There hadn’t been any rain in the first sixteen days of September, and the seventeenth brought no difference. The garden, however, was already changing in preparation for autumn. There were several glumbees that had escaped the small greenhouse and joyfully explored the more mundane flowers in the gardens.

The girls flew their toy broomsticks, dodging around the large, magical insects, and tossing Atryn back and forth.

On the third of November Andromeda and her sisters were taken by their parents and grandparents into London proper to visit Grimmauld Place. The union of her Aunt Walburga and her third cousin, Orion, had resulted in the birth of Andromeda’s first cousin, Sirius Orion Black.

She was still trying to figure that one out, herself.

The four storeys tall house loomed between its attached neighbours, despite all being the same. Its grey stone vibrated with the magic of the wards and hexes imbued into the property. Andromeda had overheard her tutor grumble about the excessive security measures at her home; she wondered how he would feel about Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

They entered the long hallway and Narcissa pointed out the spots of rainbow casted throughout the space by the crystals of the overhanging chandelier. It did little to hide the heads of the dead house-elves mounted above the stairs, as Andromeda immediately came to regret looking at the chandelier.

The three sisters were to share a room on the fourth floor, next to the nursery. There were three beds in an orange wood frame, all with two steps leading up to the mattress at the bed end. Two rows of drawers were beneath it, clearly intended for the guests to put their things away in. Bellatrix was first to move and claimed the bed closest to the window. She waved her wand so her suitcase would follow her.

Andromeda and Narcissa readily agreed on who’d get which bed. Narcissa took the middle bed, and that left Andromeda with the bed closest to the hearth and the door. Once they were all settled, Druella came to check up on them and told them that dinner was ready in the dining room, which was a rather somber affair. When Andromeda asked, her father softly told her that they were still mourning cousin Regulus, whom had lived at Grimmauld Place before he fell ill.

They retired to the drawing room and Walburga entered with a swaddled bundle in her arms. There he was, his skin a rosy pink and with wide, blue eyes that tried to become wider after each new face that cooed over him. The swaddle moved with his kicks, and he gurgled on happily. Very vaguely Andromeda could recall Narcissa having been similar four years ago. She hadn’t remembered how soft her sister’s skin had been, or truly how small babies were. She carefully stroked over the few strands of dark, downy hair, smiling when that elected another happy gurgle from the baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I don't speak Latin. This is as far as common roots and online translators could get me. If it's wrong, or if you know a better translation, please let me know and I'll correct it.
> 
> Hair loss charm "Praecalvus" - "Bald"
> 
> The activating phrases for the plushies:  
"Verum vultus" - "Be true looking"  
"Revertere" - "Return"


End file.
